Papa Bear
by Fearful Little Thing
Summary: A series of oneshots from varying POVs. Burt Hummel is literally a bear. And  almost  everyone is cool with that.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: Spider linked me to this pic (http:/ mcdalek. deviantart. com/art/ Gee-thanks-Dad- 165633993?q=boost%3 Apopular+kurt+hummel&qo=153) and I was then bitten by the rabid crack-bunny. And wrote this. Where Burt is a bear, and everyone is cool with that. /facepalm

It's badly written, includes random bear-noises, and ends on an odd note. Enjoy! While I go sit over here in shame and hope that a sequel doesn't come to me.

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At first glance the town of Lima in Ohio was nothing out of the ordinary. A nice, small slice of suburban sprawl that spiralled out from the centre of main street like a river that had spilled from its banks. It was a weird place to get transferred to, but as upheavals went it could have been a lot worse. At least Lima had what looked like a pretty decent golf course, Paul noted as he drove past in his swanky little convertible. That would make the weekends out of the office just this side of bearable.

He was just about to pass what looked like the local country club when the convertible's engine spluttered, shuddered, and died on him in the middle of the road. Paul swore. He managed to guide the car to the shoulder before it slowed to a complete stop, the engine light blinking ominously. It was quickly followed by the petrol light, and (inexplicably) the seatbelt light.

Paul swore some more, violently, and unbuckled his seatbelt so he could get out of the car and kick the front tyre. As if it would actually do him any good. He considered taking a look under the hood, but he knew from experience that just being a male wasn't a guarantee that he would know what was wrong. Paul whipped out his cell phone, and cursed when the damn thing couldn't find a signal.

As luck would have it that was about the point when a friendly voice asked; "Hey buddy, need a little help?"

Paul turned, frankly more relieved than he should have been to see a pair of middle-aged men in sweater vests and golf shoes standing near the fence. "Car broke down," he explained, gesturing at the convertible, "and my damn phone isn't picking up a signal."

One of the men whistled. "That's a beauty of a car there, mister. She's, what, a seventy-two?"

"Seventy-one," Paul replied, glancing back at the convertible. "She's sweet when she's running."

"I'll bet. Listen, you'll want to come up to the club and use the phone to call Hummel Tire and Lube," sweater vest guy #1 advised him, his friend nodding. "Burt Hummel's the guy you want, he's the only mechanic in town I'd trust with a classic like you've got."

"He's good then?" Paul asked.

"The best," sweater vest #2 said. "Decent price, and there's a towing service included."

"Alright," Paul nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate the help."

Just a few short minutes later Paul was hanging up the phone at the front desk of the country club and being press-ganged into drinks. The few men in the club were nice enough, typical good ol' boys who were a little suspicious of Paul until he told them that he was moving to town for a job and it turned out that his new boss was a member. One and half beers later the tow truck from Hummel Tire and Lube showed up and Paul had been invited to come back for a round of golf on Saturday.

Not a bad town, he thought, and greeted the tow-truck guy with a smile and a handshake.

"I reckon I'll leave this one for Burt," the tow-truck guy said after a quick look over the car, "I'm not much of an expert on the classics."

"Everyone says he's the best," Paul replied, making polite conversation.

"The guy's a genius with engines," two-truck guy (Ernest - if he believed the embroidered name on the guy's shirt, which he hoped was a joke). "He'll have you fixed up in no time."

That was the fifth good review Paul had heard in a row. Evidently this Burt guy was pretty damn good. Paul kept his mouth shut for most of the drive in to town, making polite small talk with Ernest until the truck finally pulled to a stop outside a modest-looking shop with the sign 'Hummel Tire&Lube' out front. It was the kind of shop that couldn't have employed more than three or four guys all told, but Paul was willing to take the chance.

The truck backed into the yard out front and pulled to a stop out of the way, the convertible close enough to the shop to look as though it were waiting patiently in line. Paul jumped out of the truck and straightened his suit before he followed Ernest inside.

"Hey, Boss," Ernest called. "I've got a seventy-one Corvette for you to look at."

"Grrrrmmbbrrr."

"Yeah," Ernest agreed, "dashboard's all lit up like a Christmas tree."

Paul frowned. He could have sworn that wasn't even English, but apparently Ernest hadn't had any trouble with the translation. He followed the tow-truck guy into the back of the shop, and then stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh my God,"

Paul said, and would later insist that his voice had not been a few octaves higher than usual.

You couldn't really blame him though, given that there appeared to be a _bear_ standing with its front paws braced against the bumper of a shining silver Nissan, peering down at the engine. The bear looked up from the engine, its gaze settling on Paul. "Grrm mrr rrrr?"

"Out of towner," Ernest explained with a shrug.

"Rrrr. Grrb rrff." The bear whuffed, fell to all fours, and trundled out of the shop and to the convertible sitting outside. As it passed Paul he couldn't help but notice, with surreal clarity, that the bear was wearing a navy blue baseball cap. Paul stared, open-mouthed, as the bear popped the hood open and stood on its hind legs to get a good look at the engine.

"Grrrrrffflbrrrr rrrrr."

Paul realised the bear was looking at him again, head cocked to the side expectantly. "Uhhh..." He looked at Ernest for help, silently considering pinching himself just to make sure he hadn't somehow fallen asleep while sitting in the tow truck. "What did..." (it?) "he say?"

Ernest gave him an odd look. "He says your fuel line is busted, must have come uncoupled on the road. It's a pretty quick fix, but you should get it replaced just to make sure."

Paul looked at Ernest. Then looked at the bear in the ball cap. Then looked back at Ernest. "That," he said slowly, just in case the man didn't already know, "is a bear."

"Well, yeah."

"Burt is a bear?"

"Yeah."

"Rr," the bear grunted.

"That's a bear," Paul said, pointing to the animal - who was apparently Burt Hummel - that was standing by his car. "A bear that owns a shop and fixes cars. A bear? And this is perfectly ok with you!"

"You sure you haven't been drinking?" Ernest asked him seriously. "'Cause I know it's none of my business, but drinking and driving is a dangerous combination."

"Rrrrmble rrr grrrrff," the bear said sternly, and patted the corvette with one of its huge paws.

"Burt's right," Ernest nodded. "I'm afraid we can't let you drive out of here if you've been drinking."

Paul gaped. Terror had been temporarily eclipsed with outright confusion. He pinched himself, just to be sure. A moment later he had discovered, to his horror, that he wasn't dreaming. There was actually a big brown bear tinkering with his engine, and how exactly it was holding that wrench was completely beyond his comprehension.

"But," Paul said helplessly, "it's a bear." He looked around the rest of the shop for help, only to discover that another mechanic had appeared from somewhere and was giving him a disapproving look.

"You're not one of those anti-bear racists are you?" the newcomer asked. "Because if you're going to start telling us that a bear can't run a shop then we might have a problem."

"Now, Jason," Ernest shook his head, "I'm sure he didn't mean to come off sounding racist..."

"Rrrrrrmm," the bear piped up.

"Aw, come on Burt," Jason replied, "bears got enough crap back in the eighties and now -"

"Rrrgrrr rrm rrr." The bear waved a paw, then actually nodded at Paul. "Grrrmph."

At this point Paul had pretty much no idea what was going on here. He'd like to believe this was all some kind of elaborate hoax, but at this point - with a bear actually fixing his engine while two of his employees acted as if this were completely normal as well as seeming to actually understand the bear's growls and grumbles - Paul really didn't know what to think. "Uh, no," he said, holding up his hands. "It's fine. I'm not, uh, anti-bear... It's just that we don't really get many" (he meant 'any') "bear mechanics in the city."

"Don't see why," Jason said, hands on his hips, "most bears are really good with mechanics. Like Burt here, taught me everything I know."

"Everyone did say that Burt is the best," Paul conceded, having decided it was probably in his best interests to just play along.

Jason nodded. He walked up to Paul and offered him a hand. "Hey, sorry about calling you racist before. It's just that we know a lot of people don't care for bears, so we can get kind of protective. Not that Burt needs it. But we like to look out for each other around these parts."

"Oh, no. I understand." Paul didn't understand at all, but he shook Jason's hand anyway.

"Dad, I'm borrowing the car to go to Mercedes' house for a movie night," a young voice suddenly piped up as a pale, effeminate boy emerged from the back office, a set of keys dangling from his fingers.

Burt the bear stood up on his hind paws and turned to face the boy, who walked right up to the big, shaggy creature and kissed its cheek. "Rrrmble rr," the bear said, and Paul could swear it raised an eyebrow.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. No boys allowed." He gave the bear a quick hug and then trotted off. "I'll be home before midnight."

"Kurt Hummel," Jason explained. "Burt's kid."

"Uh..."

"I know," Ernest nodded, "you can really see the family resemblance."

"Rrr grrrrmmm rrrrrm," the bear announced suddenly, and shut the convertible's hood. It nodded at Paul, then trundled through the shop and to the back office, where Paul could see it through the grimy window as it took a seat at the desk and picked up a pencil. He could barely find it in himself to be surprised that the bear knew how to write. The bear came back a minute later with an invoice, which Paul found himself taking from its huge, shaggy paw. "Rrrrr."

"Um, thank you," Paul said, and looked down at the paper to see how much he owed. He pulled out his wallet and, after a small hesitation, handed a couple of bills over to the bear. "Uh, just keep the change. Thanks for getting me up and running again."

He hightailed it out of the shop as fast as he could, and prayed to god that the convertible didn't crap out on him again before he got to where he needed to go. Bears, he thought to himself, slightly hysterical. Real, actual, honest-to-god bears.

When Paul went to work the next day he had almost managed to convince himself that it had been some kind of hallucination. Until his new manager came into his office and asked him about his car. "It's fine," Paul replied, "I had it towed to Hummel Tire and Lube like you suggested. They had it fixed in a jiffy."

"That Burt Hummel is the best," his boss said, nodding. He patted Paul's shoulder. "It's just such a pity that he's a bear."

"A bear," Paul repeated weakly.

"And his son is queerer than a rainbow turkey."

Paul cleared his throat and asked delicately; "So nobody finds it just a little bit strange that the town's best mechanic... is a bear? A bear with a human son."

"Frankly, I think it's a travesty. This town has really gone to the liberals." Paul's boss shook his head and started to walk off, leaving Paul sitting alone in his office, beginning to think that Lima was really more than he'd bargained for. And that next time the head office wanted his to transfer to some tiny office in the middle of suburbia he was going to tell them to shove it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes**: So, this is not the beginning of another story arc. This stands alone. There may or may not be more stand-alones in this weird bear!Burt universe...

**Summary**: Finn is not a bear-racist...

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Finn Hudson was not a racist. He was cool with people of all religions, all colours, and all accents. He was a pretty accepting guy all told. Sure, Kurt Hummel made him kind of uncomfortable but that was only because it was painfully obvious (even to him) that Kurt kinda liked him in a way that was more than friendly and Finn totally didn't swing that way. Finn wasn't a homophobe - he'd feel the same about any unattractive girl with a huge unrequited crush on him... And, yeah, that sounded bad. But if it weren't for that crush he'd be totally cool with the guy.

And he'd be totally cool with the guy's dad too. Had been, actually. Until today.

More specifically, until about two seconds ago today.

"_What_!" Finn stared at his mother, uncomprehending. "But..."

"Burt Hummel is a very nice man," Carole said, looking uncomfortable at her son's sudden outburst. "We have a lot in common."

"He's a bear!" Finn protested. "How can you... Why would you...?"

Visions of his mother going on dates with the furry quadropedal mechanic started flying through his mind. Carole sitting opposite Burt in an icecream parlour, Carole holding hands (paws?) with Burt at the movies - aisle seating of course, because there's no way a bear would be comfortable right in the middle - Kissing Burt...

"Ugh," Finn closed his eyes and physically reeled away. "That's just... gross."

"Finn!" Carole was glaring at him now, hands on her hips. "I expected better from you! Burt is a nice, honest, caring man – "

"Bear," Finn interrupted his mother pointedly.

"A caring _man_," Carole countered. "Who has had to deal with a lot of prejudice in his life just for being who he is."

"You can't date him!" The look on his mother's face made Finn cringe just a little.

"I'm going to make this very clear," she said, in a tone that left no room for argument, "I am not asking for your permission. I will be seeing Burt whether you like it or not, and all I ask is that you keep your opinions to yourself and try to be nice to the man."

Finn didn't correct her this time. He had a feeling it would only get him deeper into trouble. "Fine."

"Good," Carole said. She let her hands fall from her hips and informed her son; "We're going to dinner with Burt and his son tomorrow, and I'll be expecting you to behave."

Finn spent the next day at school avoiding his friends on the football team just on the off chance that between today and yesterday afternoon one of them might have found out that his mother was dating a bear. Worse - the bear who also happened to be Kurt Hummel's father. That was a double dose of social suicide right there and Finn was already hanging on by a thread.

He was quiet during glee, avoided Kurt's attempts to gain his attention (presumably to talk about their parents), and sulked his way through their songs. It must have showed more than he thought because Mr. Schuester pulled him aside at the end of practice.

"Finn," Mr. Schue started, a concerned look on his face, "you know if there's anything bothering you that you can talk to me, or Miss Pillsbury..."

Finn made an effort to smile at the man (secretly wishing that his mom was dating Mr. Schuester, because that would have been cool and not... weird). "Everything's cool, Mr. Schuester."

"Ok," Will said dubiously, "but just remember that I'm here for you."

"I will," Finn said, then changed his mind to "I do". He left before he got too tempted to blurt out his issues - he didn't want Mr. Schue to think badly of him, he doubted that the Spanish teacher had ever had any issues to do with bear racism before.

He refused to respond to his mother past monosyllables while getting ready for the big dinner and thought rebelliously about wearing old jeans and his rattiest (if most comfortable) sweatshirt. In the end he decided that rebellion wasn't worth having to live with his mother's glare and changed into a more respectable outfit. He sulked in the passenger seat all the way to the restaurant and sulked some more when they got inside and it turned out that the Hummels were already waiting in a booth.

Finn tried to ignore the furtive looks being directed their way. He tried not to imagine the kind of gossip going on around them as his mother slid into the booth across from Burt and reached out to touch his paw. The bear smiled at her, and Kurt smiled at Finn, and Finn pouted at the table.

Finn was doing a pretty good job of ignoring the entire situation until it came time to order. Hearing the growl of Burt Hummel's voice - speaking Bearglish, which was pretty easy to understand when you knew what to listen for - hit it home to him again. He was sitting in a restaurant with his mother, a bear, and a gay dude.

It was like the beginning of a very bad joke.

'_You know_,' Burt said (in a mess of growls that the tables surrounding them pretended not to be listening to) when the waiter left, '_I understand how hard this must be for you, Finn_.'

"Really?" Finn asked, and suffered a kick under the table from his mother for the doubt in his voice. "Because I don't think you do."

"Ok," Kurt said brightly, with an obvious attempt to change the subject, "why don't we talk about something more pleasant. Carole's new wardrobe for example, like the way that cornflower blue compliments her skin tone perfectly."

'_Your mom dating a new guy_,' Burt continued regardless, '_especially a guy like me_.'

"Dad"/"Burt", both Kurt and Carole protested at the same time, but the bear held up a paw to stop them from continuing.

'_I know what kids are like, I know it's going to be tough. But I think Carole would agree that if my race is something you just can't deal with then maybe it's better we call things off now_.'

"What?" Finn asked, startled. He looked at his mother, who suddenly looked as if she were trying very hard to keep a neutral expression and not look upset. "No. I don't mean..."

'_Look_,' Burt said plainly, '_when your mom and I started seeing each other we both agreed that our kids come first. So if you're really not comfortable with this_...'

Finn looked between his mother and Kurt's dad. His mother's face had begun to turn blotchy, which was always a sure sign that she was upset. The bear's expression was harder to read, given that Finn wasn't used to interpreting the limited range of expressions available to bears past Sue Sylvester's constant smugness or rage. He could see Kurt from the corner of his eye, the other boy looking the exact same way he did before being tossed into a dumpster or verbally harassed.

"No," Finn said finally, feeling ashamed of himself and his little white lie. "I don't want you guys to break up. It's just going to take some getting used to for me, that's all."

'_That's ok. We can deal with that_.'

"We can," Carole agreed, a hopeful smile on her lips. "We'll just take things slow and let you boys get to know each other."

The table fell into silence for a moment or two, and Finn poked at his dinner to avoid eye contact with anyone. Burt was the one who broke the silence first, casual, like he was pretending the last conversation hadn't happened. '_So, Finn... You're playing basketball now_?'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes**: Like the other bits and pieces in this 'verse, this snippet stands alone. The Papa Bear stories are not in chronological order. There may or may not be more stand-alones in this weird bear!Burt universe...

**Summary**: The threat of lawyers works a lot better when you say it with a smile.

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Burt Hummel drove a large light blue four wheel drive with excellent suspension and a slightly modified set of pedals. Custom rebuilt in his own shop. Most bears found it difficult to drive normal cars, given that the average automobile wasn't made with a bear's dimensions in mind. Burt didn't consider it discrimination - most bears he knew preferred to walk, and Burt's own father had spent half his life riding around town on a bicycle before finally giving in and buying a caddy.

The point was that Burt's big blue car was the only one of its kind in town. So wherever the car was you knew the bear was close by. And currently the car was parked outside McKinley High.

Burt walked on all fours through the empty hallways towards the administration office. The school wasn't all that different from when he'd been a student. The floors had been redone, and there were more trophies in the cases, but the colours were still the same. He wasn't there to be nostalgic though. Burt was a bear on a mission.

He raised himself onto his back paws to open the door to the office and stayed that way, plenty of practice meaning that (unlike rural bears, who didn't have to worry so much about appearances) Burt was comfortable enough on two legs to walk up to the front desk without wobbling. It was really freakin' hard to get people to take you seriously when you couldn't even walk on two legs without looking like you were going to fall onto your ass.

"Can I help you, sir?" The woman behind the desk asked, craning her neck back at an awkward angle to look at him without needing to stand up.

'_I need to talk to Principal Figgins_,' Burt told her, doing his best to keep his annoyance out of his voice. Communication was so much about tone of voice, and bears often found it notoriously difficult to sound cuddly even when they actually were. '_About my son, Kurt Hummel_.'

The woman glanced at the intercom by her phone, then back at the bear on the other side of the desk. "Mr. Figgins is busy at the moment," she told him, "but if you'd like to leave a message I can ask him to give you a call when he's free."

Burt sighed. He leaned against the counter to bring himself closer to her level, glanced down at the nameplate on her desk. '_Listen, Julia. My son's really upset. He already has a tough time at this school and I don't want to make it any more difficult for him by bringing a solicitor into the picture. I can wait howevever long it takes for Mr. Figgins to find a few spare minutes_...'

As always, the word 'solicitor' worked wonders. The woman smiled at him - the same sort of fake, slightly painful smile you give to denists when they ask if you've been flossing after every meal. "I'll see if he can find a minute."

Burt nodded. He was sure it would only take a few minutes to say what he wanted to say. In the meantime he didn't mind waiting. Jason was holding the fort at the shop and the office was air conditioned. And given that Sue Sylvester - the only other bear in town - worked at this school Burt was pretty sure the seats by the wall would actually hold his weight. Knowing that woman this whole school would be bear-friendly by now.

Burt only had to wait ten minutes before the woman behind the desk waved him through to the principal's office.

Five minutes later Burt left the principal's office satisfied that he'd made his point. He was pretty sure Figgins would make certain that Kurt was treated with fairness by his choir teacher, under threat of lawyers (and teeth, though Burt hadnt' actually said that part aloud).

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"Will, you must give the song to Kurt Hummel."

Will Schuester stared at the other man, not entirely sure what was going on. Figgins was pale and sweating, and if Willdidn't know better he'd think that Sue had just been on another one of her psuedo-homicidal 'I dare you to defy me' rampages. "What are you talking about?" Will asked, and reached over to offer Figgins the tissue box from the man's own desk.

Figgins grabbed a handful of tissues to blot his forehead. "That Defying Gravity song," he explained. "It must go to Kurt Hummel."

"But I already gave the solo to Rachel. What's this about?" Will looked around the office for sure signs of Sue's ranting, "does this have something to do with Sue?"

"This is about discrimination, William. Kurt must at least attend an audition for that solo or Burt Hummel intends to contact his lawyer."

Suddenly things clicked into place. Will's first thought was that Figgins' sweating nervousness suddenly made sense. It was hard to look an angry bear in the face and not start thinking in terms of negative stereotypes. (Sue didn't help that part. Will had always privately thought that she was what those negative stereotypes were based on.) He was about to argue about the fairness of taking the solo away from Rachel when he came up short. How exactly was he meant to argue fairness when it wasn't fair to have automatically passed over the rest of the kids? He was so used to thinking of Rachel as his star singer that it was sometimes hard to remember that the other kids had just as much talent too.  
Kurt must have been upset by it, he realised, to have brought his dad into it.

"Alright," Will said instead. "But I'm not just going to give the song to Kurt..."

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"...I'm going to let anyone who wants the solo audition for the part," Will finished, smiling at the students who made up his glee club. "If you'd like to try out I'd like to hold the auditions during our next session. That will give you plenty of time to practice and get confident."

Just from the talk amongst the kids as they left Will could tell that at least three of them, Kurt included, were going to try for the part. Rachel, on the other hand... Will could feel her staring at the back of his head and was just glad that she managed to wait until the other kids were gone before she blurted; "But that's not fair!"

"Rachel," Will replied, turning around to look at her, "I think it's more than fair. In fact, this way -is- more fair."

"Mr. Schue, you gave the part to me," Rachel stressed, hands on her hips. She was like a tiny brunette stick of dynamite. One wrong move and he'd be dead. "You can't just take it away again."

Will shook his head, trying to think of a way to word his argument so it wouldn't upset her further. "You're a good singer, and you have a couple of days to practice. There's no reason to think you wont win the song back."

Rachel was quiet for a moment. Will breathed an internal sigh of relief. Then she frowned. "Why did you decide to have auditions anyway? We've never had auditions for solos before."

"We've never had multiple singers wanting the same solo before."

"Oh my God," Rachel said, her eyes suddenly wide. "This is about Kurt, isn't it? Kurt's the only other singer who asked for the part. I thought it was already decided that Defying Gravity was much more accessible with a female lead. It's a female part, after all."

"Rachel... I realised today that defining songs as being solely 'male' or 'female' could be something that's holding us back. Descriminating based on gender is just as bad as descriminating based on physical appearance or abilities."

"Gender-apropriateness is not descrimination," Rachel argued.

"Well, I'm afraid it's out of my hands anyway," Will confessed, holding his hands up automatically in a getsure of placation. "Principal Figgins wants me to hold auditions."

A long history of going up the ladder until she got her way meant that Rachel cottoned on pretty quickly. "Somebody complained, didn't they? Was it Kurt's dad? Does Principal Figgins know that bears don't actually eat people and that believing that they do is just perpetuating a totally inaccurate stereotype?"

Will raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling that no matter what he said here he wouldn't be able to win.

"It's totally unfair," Rachel finished, pouting as she flounced out of the room, "that my solo is being taken from me because of innacurate stereotyping."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes**: Like the other bits and pieces in this 'verse, this snippet stands alone. The Papa Bear stories are not in chronological order. There may or may not be more stand-alones in this weird bear!Burt universe...

I was actually going to wait another day to publish this chapter, but apparently actually receiving reviews is some powerful motivation. Thanks especially to LexTempus!

**Summary**: A trip to the supermarket comes with fond memories, and may make some new ones.

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Check out lanes were not made with a bear's proportions in mind. Nor were the entrances or exits. It was also close to impossible for a bear to reach the top shelf, which was fine until you wanted the high-end crackers or the last box of cereal. Naturally, nobody ever thought to help a bear either – shop attendants who would normally spend their time hovering in the background were sometimes conspicuously absent whenever Burt Hummel happened to be in their store.

With all of that in mind it didn't take Carole long to realize why grocery shopping in the Hummel household was classed as a family activity, and why Burt never went to the store without Kurt tagging along (and not just to make sure he didn't buy nothing but artery-clogging, high cholesterol foods). Outings were arranged carefully between their two conflicting schedules, slotted in between Burt's work at the auto shop and Kurt's after-school activities. It was only when Kurt called home one 'shopping day' to say that rehearsals for Sectionals were going to keep him until after eight that Carole realized just how much of a big deal it must be for a bear to go grocery shopping on his own.

"Burt, I'll go with you," she told him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. She could tell, without needing to look at his face, that Burt was thinking about skipping grocery shopping altogether.

'_It'll keep until tomorrow_.'

Carole knew him well enough now to know that tone. That was his 'avoiding life's difficulties through stoic machismo' tone. It came through even over the natural growl of Bearglish. "Don't be silly," Carole replied. "If we leave it up to you we'll be eating hotdogs into next week."

'_There is nothing wrong_,' Burt stated, raising one shaggy eyebrow and turning his unusual blue eyes in her direction, '_with eating hotdogs for a week_.'

"I'm sure Kurt would disagree, and make our lives miserable in the meantime." Carole patted his shoulder and pointedly picked up her purse. "Now. Are we taking your car or mine?"

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The passenger seat of Burt's converted blue 4WD was surprisingly comfortable, and quite roomy when you considered the extent of the modifications that had been made in order to allow the bear to drive without difficulty. Burt's warm, shaggy fur brushed against her arm, and Carole needed to keep her purse in her lap rather than putting it on the seat between them, but aside from that there was plenty of room.

She was only a little surprised when, after getting out of the car, Burt rose to his hind legs to walk towards the supermarket. He towered over her like this, almost seven feet tall, but Carole never felt intimidated. She knew that Burt was secretly nothing less than a teddybear.

"We need eggs," Carole said as they walked through the automatic doors and into the air-conditioned building, consulting her list. "And Kurt has requested fresh asparagus. After that it's just the usual, bread, milk, fruit, salmon, sausages, tuna steaks, and trout... Should I get the cart?"

'_I got it_,' Burt told her. Somehow he managed to wrangle a shopping cart from the mess of them out front without too much trouble, and seemed quite at ease walking with it. She supposed it provided extra support, something to lean against.

Carole patted his back, smiled at him, and led the way to the produce section.

She was used to the looks by now. They rolled off her like water from a duck's back. She hardly noticed the few busybodies who made it their business to stare at the inter-racial couple – an oddity in a town like Lima where, even though minorities were accepted, it was practically unheard of for a couple to be of mixed origins.

Personally Carole thought that led to nothing but a very boring town with a very boring outlook in life. If she'd dismissed Burt based entirely on his race she never would have found love again. So if they wanted to stare, let them. Carole would just go on with her life, happy, and enjoying the chance to do shopping with her partner and not on her own.

"Oranges or bananas?" Carole asked, surveying the fruit section with an eye for the nutritional needs of two growing boys. (Mind you, if Finn kept growing he'd wind up with his head brushing the ceiling.) She turned to look at Burt and gauge his opinion, but frowned when she saw the look on his face. She knew what that look meant. "Honey, are you ok?"

'_I'm fine_,' Burt insisted. '_Lets just get this done and get out of here_.'

Carole put her hands on her hips. "No," she said, silently cursing her predilection for falling for stubborn men. "You and I are going to take our sweet time shopping for groceries or so help me I will sentence you to a week on the couch."

Burt harrumphed.

Carole had him right where she wanted him. It was time to break out the big guns. "Now either you're going to tell me what's rubbing your fur the wrong way or I will make this shopping trip as long and painful as humanly possible."

'_It's just_,' Burt began, speaking to the empty shopping cart, '_I haven't done the grocery shopping with a woman since Kate and it's... bringing back memories_.'

"Fond memories?" Carole asked gently, sure that they were.

She knew she was right when Burt smiled. She could hear the fondness even through the natural gruffness of his voice; '_I ever tell you how Kate used to kick up a fuss like nobody's business if she caught anyone staring? Especially after Kurt was born. She used to say that if people were going to stare anyway then she ought to give them something to stare at_.'

"She sounds like an extraordinary woman."

'_Kurt's just like her_.'

Carole smiled. She leaned over and kissed Burt's cheek, and covered his paw with her hand.

'_You know_,' Burt said after a moment, '_you're an extraordinary woman too, Carole_. _Oranges_,' he added, nodding towards the orange fruit. '_They're sweeter_.'

Carole didn't say it, but she couldn't help thinking it. Burt was sweeter than oranges. Much sweeter.


	5. Chapter 5, Sue

**Title**: Sue, A Papa Bear Story  
**Rating**: PG  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**: Sue Sylvester  
**Genre**: Gen/Humour  
**Warning**: Bear-racism. Also total crack. And bear-noises.  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment.  
**Author Notes**: This story was actually inspired by a case in 2008, when a bear in NSW was forced into early retirement after claims of being unable to perform his job to the same capacity as a human. The bear sued and was able to prove that he could do just as good a job as a human male twenty years his junior, winning a large settlement and pension.**  
**Summary**: This is the first time Sue has ever experienced this kind of needless hate.

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That Sue Sylvester was a bear never should have entered into the network's decision to give her a feature segment on the local news, but the truth was tangled in the fact that no bear had ever been a Republican. To hear such right wing views from someone who should be all for equal rights for everyone and lovey-dovey rainbows was nothing short of controversy. And controversy sold ratings.

So they gave her a three minute segment and justified it as part opinion and part fluff-piece. It was a good filler, a good ratings draw, and having a bear on the payroll made the network look forward-thinking.

At least, that was the plan.

Somewhere in some office in some big city someone was looking perplexed.

The quarterly financial report from the station was in, and had been sent up and along and sideways until it landed in the inbox of an accountant in the employ of the larger conglomerate that owned the TV station. Everything was normal, all expenditures justified, nothing out of the ordinary... Until it came to the sections marked out for the payroll. At which point one particular oddity stood out as if it had been written in red and circled with flashing lights.

Sue Sylvester. Paid in premium salmon.

"What. The. Hell."

Missy Strauss liked to think she could take a joke – with her name she had to – but there was an appropriate time and place for jokes, a financial report was not one of them. Missy blinked to clear her eyes and turned away from the report briefly just to make sure she wasn't seeing things. When she looked back the name and description was still there, large as life and clearly some kind of sick prank. She reached for her phone and dialled for her supervisor.

"Frank Stern," the male voice greeted her, a smoker's croak from the sixty year old Frank who had smoked a pack a day since he was twenty.

"Frank," Missy said, tapping her pen against her desk and staring at the report that sat there innocently on her computer screen, mocking her. "I've just been looking through the quarterly report from 32-OHK, and there's an odd note I think you should look at."

"Alright," Frank rumbled, "lets hear it."

"You're going to think I'm joking. Actually, I'll email a copy to you so you can see for yourself." Missy hesitated, then just came out and said it; "They have a woman on the payroll that they're paying in fish."

"You're shitting me."

"I told you." Missy put down her pen, put her phone on speaker, and quickly attached the report to an email. "Sue Sylvester, paid in salmon."

"That can't be right."

"I just sent you a copy of the relevant pages. It should be in your inbox now."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"What the hell is that about?" Frank asked, sounding just as surprised about the fish payment as Missy had been. Over the phone she could hear the impossibly loud clacking of Frank's keyboard. "Alright," he said after a moment. "I've submitted a request for you to conduct inquiries. Bounce the rest of your work over to Peter, I want you to find out what the hell they think they're doing paying someone in fish."

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'How Sue Sees It' had made it to youtube. The segment actually had its own channel, and had been linked to in blogs and even a couple of feature articles by comedy sites. Missy had no idea how nobody in the office had heard of it. She clicked on a video link, watched the few seconds of anchor intro, then actually had to pause just to make sure she wasn't seeing things.

Sue Sylvester was a bear. In a tracksuit.

They had a grizzly in a blue tracksuit sitting behind a desk.

"Oh my God," Missy breathed, horrified and stunned as she watched three minutes worth of footage. Utterly incoherent, completely unexplainable footage. Fearing what she would find she clicked on another of the videos. Noise flooded the room from the tiny speakers on her computer.

"Grr ARR RR WRRFRRGRAR! Arrrrgf frr-rr aorr!"

There was something terribly wrong with this picture.

Two weeks of internal investigations and escalations later and the local news was sent a very official and very stern message. Get the damn bear off the air and quit wasting time with obnoxious, insulting stunts.

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'_Excuse me? Nobody fires Sue Sylvester_!'

"Actually..." The Executive Coordinator wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, trying his best not to let on that he was a little bit terrified of the very angry blond bear rearing up on her hind legs in front of him. "This is out of our hands. Now me, I want to keep you. You bring in the ratings and you keep people talking – but our parent company says no. They won't pay you, and they'll penalise us if we keep you."

'_This is an outrage_!' Sue roared, her voice carrying all the way down the hall to the studio. '_This is a flagrant disregarding of my rights! This is discrimination_!'

And she wouldn't get severance pay either.

It was a marvel and a testament to Sue's self-control that there wasn't any property damage and nobody received a mauling (though she didn't hesitate to point out that it would be justified '_no court would convict me_!'). She raged and ranted but kept her paws and teeth to herself, practically tore a strip from the asphalt when her car screeched and peeled out of the parking lot.

The very idea that she had been fired because of her race was humiliating to Sue. She was used to it being a nonissue, to achieving because of and in spite of her heritage. Sue was a winner and _everybody_ knew it. She got her way and when she didn't she always found a way to make it work. Her news segment had been another step on the ladder, another notch in her already heavily crosshatched belt. To have it taken away just because she happened to be a bear was appalling.

Sue paced back and forth in her spacious living room, muttering under her breath.

Lawyers were needed. Lawsuits needed to be filed. Sue intended to get her spot back and expose the unhealthy racism behind TV's executive decisions (ignoring her own casual, habitual racism) in the meanest and most public way possible. A class action suit should do nicely.

There was only one problem with that.

A class action suit actually required more than one injured party. She was going to have to find more victims to stand behind her cause. Sue Sylvester was going to have to go ambulance-chasing. And if she had to cause a few accidents to get those figurative ambulances, well... so be it.

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"Can _anyone_ explain this to me?"

The video footage had been recorded on a digital handheld camera, the tiniest of wobbles now and then indicating that it was being held by someone and not on a tripod. In the centre of the frame, seated on a large ergonomic office chair was a grizzly bear in a red tracksuit, paws slotted together in its lap as if it were clasping them together. The bear cleared its throat, and then spoke.

At least, the growling and snarling seemed an awful lot like speech.

The video went for two minutes, and at one point the bear actually unclasped its paws, reached out of frame and picked up a manila folder which it then flicked through as it continued – clearly reading from whatever documents were inside.

The video, which had apparently gone viral, ended with the bear holding up an official notice signed by several people. A copy of which was now sitting in the middle of the table at this particular meeting alongside a blue piece of paper that indicated the company had just been served and representatives would be expected to appear in court two months from now unless they could agree on a settlement.

Three lawyers sat on the other side of the table. Two under company employ, one independent who was (apparently) representing the bear. The only other people in the room were Anthony Gable and Carl Mattherson, the company VP and the head of PR.

"It seemed quite simple to me," the bear-lawyer (Pennywise, or Penrith, or something like that) stated calmly. "Like Sue says, she was unjustly dismissed because of her race and heritage. As it turns out, the stations under your company's affiliation have done this sort of thing before and Sue has managed to find enough unhappy people to put together a class action suit. We are, of course, hoping to settle out of court, but that decision is entirely up to you and your lawyers."

"This is ridiculous," Anthony scoffed. "A bear can't sue anyone."

"As a matter of fact," Pennywise replied, "they can, and do. Often."

"But it's a bear!" Anthony exploded. "Bears don't have the right to sue anyone! Bears are just dumb animals, they can't talk and they certainly don't belong on the evening news!"

Pennywise smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "Personally I'd like to see this case put in front of a judge. In fact, I'd love you to take the stand and explain your point of view just as succinctly as that."

Anthony gaped. He looked at the company lawyers, only to see them looking a little green. He turned to Carl, who was staring at him as if he thought Anthony was insane. "Don't tell me you're actually taking this seriously!"

Carl cleared his throat. "Tony, perhaps you'd better sit this one out?"

"Are you really telling me that we're being sued by a god damn _bear_ and you're taking it seriously?"

"I really think you should sit this one out," Carl nodded. "And take no interviews whatsoever on the subject. In fact," he glanced at Pennywise, who was sitting there smug as a shark at spring break,  
"we'd best handle this very quietly just in case."

Anthony's jaw actually dropped open. Seriously, until that day he'd always thought that was just an expression. Clearly everyone in this meeting room was insane, except for him. He needed to get the hell out of there before he joined them. He left the room as quickly as he could, just in time to hear one of the lawyers ask "how much are you asking for?"

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_'One way or another we are all racist. We see people and we judge them by how they look, it's just nature. The trouble starts when we make big decisions based solely on these little judgement. Yes, viewers, I too have been the victim of discrimination, but unlike the rest of you I am legally allowed to eat a certain number of humans per year. For those of you not capable of legally sanctioned murder I give you this advice: stand up for yourself. Nobody is going to respect you if you don't respect yourself._

_And that is how Sue sees it.'_

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**Note**: Bears are subject to the same laws as humans and are not legally allowed to eat (or maul) anyone. Eating or mauling humans will result in serious legal consequences, and you may wind up behind bars. As much as you may think living in a zoo for twenty-to-life may be worth killing that asshole down the road, it really, really isn't.

****REAL AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Sometimes I think I have way too much fun with this world.


End file.
